


For Whatever My Man Is

by chambergambit



Series: Oh My Man I Love Him So [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Espionage, M/M, Meeting the In laws, Minor Character Death, Reuinions, Separation, World War II, happiness at last
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chambergambit/pseuds/chambergambit
Summary: Sequel to Overheard. Five chapters depicting Thomas and Seth's life and struggles over the years.1. Sister - Seth's sister comes to visit and Thomas contemplates his relationship with his own sister.2. Old Friend - Jimmy returns to Downton Abbey as Lord Hexham's valet. (not thommy)3. Th Bloody American - Seth's past catches up with him.4. A Lonesome Road to Walk - Thomas and Seth's separation during the war.5. At Last - Thomas retires and comes to live with Seth in the cottage on the estateThis fic is not in line with the movie.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow & Jimmy Kent, Thomas Barrow/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Oh My Man I Love Him So [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930303
Comments: 37
Kudos: 80





	1. Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and liked Overheard. I hope you enjoy this story as well! This chapter has Thomas mostly has an outside observer, so I hope it isn't too boring. The next chapters should be more exciting. Thank you to Laramie for all your encouragement!
> 
> This chapter has brief references to Thomas's suicide attempt, and the death of an infant.

**1927: Sister**

In the weeks before his sister’s visit, Seth spends his time trying to… explain her.

“She’s shy in her way,” he says to Thomas in one of their nightly phone calls. “She’ll talk to people, but she has trouble looking them in the eye. And sometimes she, well, it’s like she’s swaying to music that isn’t there.”

“I’m sure we’ll all love her,” says Thomas. He glances at the office clock as it ticks closer to midnight and sinks further into his chair.

“I know you’ll try, but--” Seth lets out a sigh. “Most people just don’t understand her. They think she’s odd.”

Thomas smiles to himself. “Most people think _you’re_ odd, love.”

“I’m eccentric,” says Seth. “She’s just… God, I wish I knew how to explain.”

The more his man talks about the upcoming visit, the more tendrils of envy begin to grow in Thomas’s heart. He’s heard from his own sister, Margaret, exactly once since his father kicked him out when he was 15. She wrote him to ask if he would help out her friend Phyllis Baxter, who had just got out of prison.

He had been so angry with her for daring to ask him a favor after so many years of silence that he schemed to bring Baxter to Downton and take his anger out on her through blackmail. Like most of his schemes, it blew up in his face, yet somehow Baxter forgave him and became something like a sister to him herself.

Yet when he hears Seth talk about his twin, that anger he felt for Mags turns into longing. How is she? How are her sons? Did she have more children? God, his nephews must be just about grown up now. Thomas barely remembers their faces.

Silvia arrives in Britain in late December. She and Seth stay in London through New Years to sight-see, then make their way to Downton Abbey. The car rolls up to the house on a cold, windy day, the type of day where everything seems dull and desaturated. The family and servants all stand outside to greet their guests.

The chauffeur opens the door, and out of the car steps a dark-haired woman in a cloche hat and Devore coat with a fur collar. She lifts her pale face to look up in awe at the house.

“Goodness,” she says.

Seth steps out behind her, and the family ushers them into the house as Thomas and Andy take their bags from the back of the car. The front door closes, and the two servants head for the back.

“What do you think?” Andy asks as they round the corner into the courtyard.

“I don’t think anything,” says Thomas. “She’s the family’s guest, not mine.”

“I thought they’d look more alike, she and Mr. Starling, being twins and all,” says Andy.

Thomas opens the back door and enters the Servants Hall with Andy close behind. “Not all twins look alike, obviously.”

He doesn’t see her again until teatime, when he serves everyone in the library.

She talks freely with her brother and the Crawleys, describing the New Year’s party she and Seth attended in London, but she keeps her eyes firmly on the floor. 

“When the clock struck midnight, silver confetti fell from the ceiling,” she says with a smile. “It was quite magical.”

Thomas hands her a teacup, and her large, dark eyes flicker upward as she reaches up to accept it, but her gaze never reaches his face. Instead, she becomes fixated with something on his hand, her eyebrows twitching minutely. Glancing down, Thomas sees what she’s looking at.

His ring.

Thomas’s blood runs cold as she turns away and continues the conversation. He knows Seth told her about his relationship with Thomas, and that she doesn’t disapprove, but he’s not sure how much detail Seth gave her. Resisting the urge to twist the ring around his finger, a habit he’s developed since he started wearing it, Thomas goes back to serving tea.

He gives Seth his cup, and he grins at Thomas as he mouths his thanks. Thomas realizes that Silvia didn’t do the same, and wonders if her brother warned her about the rules that he wasn’t aware of when he first came to Downton himself.

  
  


In the year since coming to England, Seth has become more and more comfortable with Crawleys. He used to be wary of doing anything more than having tea with them, but now he dines at the house regularly, and even agreed to stay at Downton for the duration of his sister’s visit. 

That isn’t to say he’s comfortable with everything, however.

Thomas helps him into the tails Talbot forced him to buy for dinner. He looks much like he did at the Crawley’s garden party last spring, like a child playing at adulthood. 

“I don’t clean up nice,” says Seth as Thomas adjusts his bowtie. “I dirty down nice. I look better when I look worse.”

“You’re always handsome to me, love,” says Thomas with a smile. “No matter what you wear.”

Seth smiles and ducks his chin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Are you enjoying your sister’s visit?” Thomas asks. “I missed you while you were in London.”

“I missed you, too.” Seth drapes his arms around Thomas’s shoulders. “The visit’s been good so far. I promise to introduce you two properly as soon as I can.”

“I look forward to it,” says Thomas.

He pulls Seth in closer and kisses him. It’s so rare that they get to be alone like this that Thomas makes sure to cherish every moment. Somehow, it’s still precious and strange, even after a year, to _have_ someone, and to be had himself. Thomas didn’t know this kind of happiness could exist for someone like him, yet here he is, with his arms wrapped tight around the man he loves.

Breaking the kiss, Thomas presses their foreheads together. “I have to go ring the gong for dinner.”

Seth grumbles and kisses him again before pulling away. “There are a thousand fucking clocks in this castle. Can’t people tell what time it is on their own?”

“It’s just the way things are done, love.” Thomas says, reaching up to brush some of that wild hair out of Seth’s eyes.

“Just another thing I gotta get used to.”

“Indeed.”

Placing his hands on either side of Seth’s head, he pulls him in for one more kiss, then says his goodbyes.

  
  
  


Dinner is largely uneventful. Seth entertains with stories of their childhood in New York, how they played in the opera house and stirred up trouble in their immigrant neighborhood. Silvia interjects occasionally with a correction or anecdote of her own, but mostly stays quiet.

Branson can’t keep his eyes off her, even though she doesn’t give him more than a glance.

Afterwards, when everyone has gone to bed, Thomas sneaks back upstairs into Seth’s room. It’s risky, especially after what happened to Jimmy, but Thomas doubts another fire will happen. They make love slowly and thoroughly, just how they like it, and soon Seth is asleep in his arms.

Untangling himself from his lover’s embrace is agonizing. All Thomas wants is fall asleep here himself, but he can’t. As Thomas slips out of bed, Seth catches his arm.

“I love you,” he says.

Thomas’s heart still flutters every time he hears it. “I love you too, darling. Goodnight.”

  
  
  


The next morning, Thomas runs into Silvia during his rounds. He turns the corner to see her stopped in front of a painting. She would appear to be admiring it, if not for what she’s doing with her hands, shaking them quickly like she was trying to get something off of them. Catching sight of him, her hands still, and she places them stiffly at her sides.

She clears her throat. “Excuse me, Mr. Barrow, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am?” says Thomas.

“Could you direct me to the library?” she asks. “I’m afraid I’m rather lost.”

Thomas nods. “Of course, ma’am, follow me.”

They head down the hallway. This isn’t the proper introduction Thomas has hoped for, but it’s something. 

Silvia clears her throat again. “You’re my brother’s new friend.”

_Quite a bit more than that_ , Thomas thinks, but says nothing. 

“My brother has a habit of walking through traffic, did you know that?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve seen him do it.”

She clutches her hands in front of her and sighs. “Sometimes, he treats men like traffic. Do you understand?”

Frowning, Thomas shakes his head. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid I do not.”

“He walks right through them, with little care for who could get hurt.”

Thomas doesn’t really know how to respond, so he just says “I see.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Thomas leads her to the library, where the family has gathered to play with the children. He half expects her to have an extreme reaction to the sight of children, much like her brother used to, but instead she walks right up to Sybbie.

“Hello,” she says. “And what’s your name?”

Sybbie introduces herself and invites Silvia to join the tea party she’s having with her stuffed animals. With a smile, Silvia sits down and picks up an empty cup. Branson comes over and joins them, pouring himself an imaginary cup of tea.

“I got this tea set for Christmas,” says Sybbie. “What did you get for Christmas, Miss Starling?”

“Oh, I don’t celebrate Christmas,” Sylvia says.

Sybbie’s eyes widen. “No Christmas? Does that mean you don’t get any presents?”

“I celebrate something called Hanukkah,” says Silvia. “For Hanukkah, we get _eight days_ of presents!”

Her mouth falling open in awe, Sybbie turns to her father. “Daddy, can we celebrate Hanukkah next year?”

Branson laughs and shakes his head. “No, I’m afraid it’s just Christmas for us. Mr. and Miss Starling are Jewish, like Cousin Atticus.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” Sybbie says. “He didn’t know _any_ Christmas songs.”

Seth walks in with a roll of papers under his arm. He winks at Thomas as he enters the room, then holds up his papers. “Who wants to see the sketches for the Grantham CR Two?”

  
  
  


It’s not until that afternoon that Thomas and Silvia get their proper introduction, when Seth brings her down to Thomas’s office in the Servants Hall.

“Sil,” he says, taking Thomas’s arm, “this is Thomas. Thomas, this is my sister Sil.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Thomas says.

He holds out his hand and Silvia takes it.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” she says. “I’ve heard so much about you from my brother’s letters. Is it true you hit a duke at a garden party?”

Thomas’s cheeks heat up at the memory, and he nods. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.”

“He deserved it, too!” says Seth. “You wouldn’t believe the things that jackass was saying.”

They talk for a little while before Thomas must get back to work. It’s a bit awkward. Thomas finds he doesn’t quite know how to act around her. Much like her brother, she occupies a dual space between the servants and the family, but unlike Seth, she’s more upstairs than downstairs. The interaction leaves him with an uneasy feeling in his chest.

  
  
  


That night, Thomas sneaks into Seth’s room again. They curl up in bed together, Thomas’s right arm draped around Seth’s middle. Thomas kisses his bare shoulder as he gathers the courage to ask a question that he’s been wondering all day.

“Love?”

Seth lifts his head to look back at him. “Yeah, baby?”

“Your mother’s ring.”

“What about it?”

“Have you ever given it to someone else?”

Frowning, Seth pushes Thomas’s arm away so he can sit up. “What? No, never. Why would you ask that?”

Thomas shrugs and looks down at his hands. The ring glints in the moonlight.

“Just, I don’t know, something your sister said made me think--”

“What? What did she say?” Seth asks, his brow furrowed.

“She said you walk through men like you walk through traffic,” says Thomas. He explains to him how they ran into each other in the hallway before Seth introduced them properly.

Seth sighs and rests his chin in his hand. “I guess I’ve done that before, rushed into things with a guy without really thinking about it. Maybe she thinks I’m doing that again.”

Thomas bites his lip. “Are you?”

“What? No.” Seth lays back down on his side and cups Thomas’s cheek. “You know I’m not. Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” says Thomas. He doesn’t know how to express that what Silvia said rather spooked him without sounding craven and plaintive.

Running his thumb along the curve of Thomas’s jaw, Seth leans in and kisses him.

“Nothing about this is like any relationship I’ve had before,” he says, their noses touching. “You and me? We’re a fire. They were all just sparks.”

Thomas smiles at that. He remembers the various sparks in his life; the duke, the lieutenant, even Jimmy, and none of them compare to how he feels about Seth. His worries wither away as they kiss, and soon Thomas can’t remember why he was so worried at all.

  
  
  
  


One night after dinner, Silvia sings for the family while Seth plays the piano. She keeps her eyes closed throughout the whole performance to relieve her stage fright (“I get so nervous in front of new audiences!”), and it reminds Thomas of the photograph of her that Seth keeps on his coffee table in his flat above the shop. Her eyes were closed in that, too. Perhaps she was nervous to have her picture taken.

Seth’s piano playing is rusty, but no one minds when they hear Silvia’s voice. It’s low and velvety, almost rumbling like thunder. Mary joins in for the next song, _If You Were the Only Girl in the World_ , and the harmonies they make together are bright and sweet, like sunrise breaking over the horizon. They make Thomas nostalgic, but for what, he’s not sure. It’s like a longing for a time that never was.

Thomas imagines Seth and Silvia playing music together as children with their mother. He pictures her as something like the opera singer that performed at Downton a few years ago, elegant and fine, and full of artistic grace. 

“Why didn’t you sing with them?” Thomas asks when he sneaks into Seth’s room once again.

They lay together, with Seth head on his chest. This visit is the most time they’ve spent together since Thomas spent a week with him in York. Thomas relishes it, making sure to keep his hands on Seth as long as possible, as if memorizing his body.

Seth shrugs. “I don’t like singing that much. My voice is-- how did she put it? Unremarkable.”

“Who put it that way?” asks Thomas, frowning. “Your sister?”

“No,” says Seth. “My mother.”

That colors his elegant imaginings of Helena Starling a little differently.

“I suppose she must have had high standards,” says Thomas.

“Mh-hm. Very.”

Thomas runs his fingers through Seth’s hair. “I’d still like to hear you sing, nevertheless.”

Seth smiles at him before sitting up. He traces his fingers across Thomas’s chest before placing his hand over his heart.

“ _I’ll be loving you, always_ … _with a love that’s true, always_...”

It’s a slow little love song, sentimental and saccharine, but Thomas likes it. He watches Seth with a smile and a warmth in his chest that he doesn’t want to ever get used to. Maybe his voice isn’t as polished as his sister’s, but Thomas wouldn’t call it unremarkable. To him, everything Seth does is remarkable.

There’s a knock on the door.

Thomas and Seth both stare at it with wide eyes.

“Don’t answer,” whispers Thomas. “Just pretend you’re asleep.”

“Starling?” says a voice from the other side. “Starling, I need to talk to you.”

It’s Branson.

Seth makes a face and climbs out of bed. He throws on his robe and takes a few hops on his right leg to reach the door before opening it a crack.

“What?” he asks. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you about your sister,” Branson says.

“What? Why?”

Branson grumbles. “Just let me in.”

“I’m not exactly alone in here, pal.”

“What’re you… oh, Barrow.”

Throwing his head back, Seth lets out a laugh. “Yes, him.”

“Tell him to come back in ten minutes,” says Thomas, sitting up and pushing the blankets away. “I need to head back to my room anyway.”

Seth repeats this to Branson and closes the door. He leans back against it, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “I wonder what that’s about.”

Thomas smiles as he gets out of bed and picks up his clothes from where they lay on a chair. “He likes her, obviously.”

“Oh God, I hope that’s not it,” says Seth, crossing his arms and knocking his head back against the door.

Pulling on his trousers, Thomas laughs. “What, you don’t approve?”

“That’s not it. It’s just not gonna happen, is all,” says Seth. “Shit, now _I’m_ the one who’s gotta let him down easy.”

“Maybe she likes him back, you never know.” Thomas says. “She’s a little hard to read, your sister.”

Seth shakes his head. “My sister hasn’t engaged in a romantic relationship since a married man knocked her up at sixteen.”

Thomas pauses for a moment before he finishes buttoning up his shirt. He’s wondered about that for a while, but always felt it was too personal to ask. Even after a year, there’s so much about Seth’s past and his family that remains a mystery.

Once dressed, he kisses Seth goodnight and leaves, passing Branson in the hallway. He gives him a sympathetic look as he walks by and hopes the man won’t be too heartbroken. Jesus, since when does he care about _Branson’s_ feelings? Apparently, love has made Thomas a more empathetic person. Thomas supposes that’s a good thing, but it still feels strange.

  
  
  


Wednesday is the Servants Ball. It’s Thomas’s first official Servants Ball as butler, and he proudly opens it by dancing a waltz with Lady Grantham. At the Ball a few years ago, when he was valet, he stepped on the Dowager’s toes twice, causing her to give him such a withering look that he wanted to sink into the floor. But this time, with his new partner, all goes well.

Once the first dance ends, Thomas thanks Lady Grantham and goes to get a drink. On his way there, he spots Silvia and Branson sitting at a table together and overhears a snippet of the conversation between them.

“Don’t you think you could be happy here?” he asks. “With us? With me?

“It’s not that I would be unhappy. I _do_ like you, Tom, it’s just...”

“Just what?” Branson reaches out and places his hand over hers. “If we like each other, shouldn’t we give it a chance?”

She sighs and dips her head, her dark hair falling into her face, much like her brother’s hair tends to do. “It’s complicated.”

At that moment, Thomas decides to abandon his quest for a drink and walks up to the table.

He clears his throat. “Miss Starling, would you care to dance?”

She blinks up at him, and for the first time their eyes meet. Branson, however, frowns.

“Barrow, we’re in the middle of--”

Silvia stands up. “Yes, Mr. Barrow, I would.”

He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. With her hand on his shoulder and his on her waist, they begin to step in time to the music.

“Thank you,” she says with a soft smile. 

“My pleasure,” says Thomas. “I hope he isn’t being too impertinent.”

This close together, Silvia has to turn her head to avoid looking at him directly. It’s odd, dancing with someone who won’t really look at you, but Thomas says nothing, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Tom thinks we could fill in each other’s missing pieces, but I need my missing pieces. They define me.”

Something about that pulls at Thomas’s heart. Sybbie is a child without a mother, and Silvia is a mother without a child. But even if she grew to love both Branson and his daughter, Thomas doubts that could rectify such an immense loss. 

“The past cannot be replaced,” Thomas says.

“Exactly,” says Silvia with a nod. She smiles and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “I think I can see why my brother is so fond of you.”

Thomas chuckles. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you with what I said when we first met,” she says. “I just thought you deserved a fair warning. I’ve watched my brother’s love burn out so quickly many times, but I’m starting to think this time is different.”

Thomas smiles back at her. “I think so, too.”

“I suppose I should thank you for this visit as well,” says Silvia. “My brother hasn’t stayed in one place this long since before the war. I could never visit him because he would never settle down.”

Thomas wonders how much Seth’s restlessness had to do with his old job, and how much his sister knows about that.

“Well, I’m very glad you came,” says Thomas. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together.”

“Do you think I’ve acted alright?” she asks. “I read three books on etiquette before I came. It’s felt like such a performance.”

Thomas nods. “I know all our pomp and decorum can be difficult, but you’ve done splendidly.”

“ _Splendidly_ ,” she says. “That’s a lovely word, thank you.”

The song ends, and as they part ways, Silvia says “Take care of that ring, now.”

“I will, I promise.” 

Thomas makes his way across the room towards the refreshment table. Seth comes up to him and touches his arm.

“That was nice of you,” he says. “Dancing with her.”

Thomas smiles as he picks up a glass. He can’t remember the last time someone said he was _nice_. He looks back behind him to see that Silvia is now dancing with Branson, whose expression is bittersweet and resigned.

“It seems you were right about them,” says Thomas.

“I know,” says Seth, shrugging. “It wouldn’t be _so_ bad, I think, if they got together, but it’s just not something my sister does anymore.”

Memories of his own sister’s romantic exploits flood into Thomas’s mind, and he misses her in that moment more than he has in a long time.

“My sister was a big flirt,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. “There were always boys fighting over her. It was a bit of a surprise that she settled down so young.”

“Oh yeah?” says Seth, tilting his head to the side and smiling. “I’d love to meet her one day.”

Thomas initially wants to say that no, that’s not going to happen, but he stops himself. People change. He’s changed a lot himself, after all.

“Maybe,” he says instead. “One day.”

He joins Seth at a table in the corner. They sit close together, their legs touching. Thomas wishes he could lean into him, rest his head on his shoulder, but settles for holding his hand under the table where no one can see.

“Remember when you were staying with me?” Seth asks in a low voice. “And we danced to that Fanny Brice song?”

Thomas smiles at the memory. “Yes, that was a good night.”

“I miss dancing,” says Seth. “I mean, I can still do the slow stuff, which is nice, but nothing more complicated than that. No fancy footwork for me.”

“Were you good at fancy footwork?” Thomas asks.

Seth leans his head back and smiles. “Yeah, I was. I had this silly dream as a kid that Sil and I would have an act together. We’d be the Darling Starlings.”

“The _Darling Starlings_?” Thomas laughs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s stupid.”

Thomas shakes his head. “It’s not stupid, just a bit surprising. Why didn’t you do it?”

“Life happened, I guess. After Harriet died, Sil went back to school and I went, well, I kinda went insane.”

“What do you mean, insane?” Thomas asks, frowning. He squeezes Seth’s hand under the table.

“Drugs. Alcohol. Men.” Seth says with a sigh. “Ran through ‘em like traffic. Then the war started, and you know the rest from there.”

“Not everything,” says Thomas.

Seth rubs his thumb along the back of Thomas’s hand.

“I know,” he says, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, love,” says Thomas before glancing around to see if anyone’s listening.

“I _want_ to tell you, I do, it’s just hard to find the words sometimes.” Seth says.

Thomas yearns to kiss him, his mouth, his temple, his hair. He wants to pull his man into his arms and hold him through the night.

Instead, he just says, “I understand.”

  
  


  
  


On the final night before Silvia’s departure, Thomas sneaks into Seth’s room one last time. Both half-undressed, Seth lays back on the pillows while Thomas works lotion onto his stump. The scarred tissue is puffy and strange underneath his hands, but he doesn’t mind it.

“You’re good at this,” says Seth, looking at him from the head of the bed.

“You’re not the first person I’ve done this to, actually,” says Thomas as he smooths his hands around the limb. “There were plenty of amputees around when Downton was a convalescent home, and I helped out when nurses were unavailable.”

“I’d’ve liked to see you back then,” Seth says with a smirk. “I bet you looked handsome in your uniform.”

Thomas grins. “I did, but I doubt you would’ve liked me. I was a nasty, arrogant sort back then.”

“Sounds like you were trouble,” says Seth. “I _loved_ trouble back then.”

“And now?”

“I love _you_.” Seth says, then he makes a face and grunts.

Thomas stops what he’s doing. “What is it, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, not you,” says Seth. He stretches out the remains of his leg and reaches down to touch his stump. “Just a bit of phantom pain. The message helps, actually.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” says Thomas, and he scoops another dollop of lotion from the jar onto his fingers and returns to rubbing it into Seth’s skin.

It’s not fair that his leg, or lack thereof, still hurts now and then. Healed wounds shouldn’t hurt anymore. Seth has explained to him that it’s just his nervous system sending messages to his brain that something’s wrong, and his brain interprets that as pain. Yet Thomas can’t help but think of it as the universe being terribly cruel to people who have already suffered enough.

“Are you ready for the trip to Southampton in the morning?” Thomas asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” says Seth with a sigh. “I wish she could stay longer, but this is all the time she could get off work.”

“Nonetheless, it’s been a good visit,” says Thomas. “I don’t know what you were so worried about before she got here. She got on with everyone just fine.”

Seth shrugs. “I know. I guess after not seeing her for over a decade, some aspects of her personality became exaggerated in my head. That or she’s gotten better at dealing with people.”

“Perhaps both,” says Thomas.

Sitting up, Seth scoots down the bed and wraps his arms around Thomas’s neck. He kisses his temple, then his cheek, then his jawline. Thomas smiles as the kisses work their way down to his neck. Every touch tingles with warmth.

Soon, Thomas is laying Seth back down onto the pillows and pulling off his underwear. After some quick preparation, Thomas slicks himself up and pushes inside him. While the universe may be cruel to allow healed wounds to still feel pain, it is absolutely brilliant to allow this, this inconceivable pleasure and connection that makes two broken people perfect and whole.

Seth wraps his thighs around Thomas’s waist as he thrusts in slow and deep. Little murmurs of pleasure escape from Seth’s mouth with each thrust, growing louder as Thomas moves faster. He rests his weight on his left hand and reaches between them with his right to stroke Seth’s cock to the rhythm of his thrusts.

As always, it’s beautiful and tight inside him, and made all the more sweeter that they get to do this so rarely. These past few nights have had the most love making since their time together in York.

Thomas leans forward to whisper in Seth’s ear. “Do you have any idea how you make me feel?”

Seth smiles, panting. “Tell me.”

“Like I’m complete, like I matter, like I’m cherished,” says Thomas. He kisses the corner of his jaw. “Like I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Seth breathes. His cock dribbles precome onto his stomach. “It’s so, it’s so _good_ with you, Thomas, it’s like, it’s like--”

“What’s it like, love, tell me?” Thomas punctuates his question with a particularly hard thrust, making Seth cry out so loudly that for a moment he wonders who might hear them. The only other person in this wing is Branson, so he’ll just have to deal with it.

“Like I’m seeing new colors,” says Seth, his eyelids fluttering as he throws his head back. “ _Shit_ , Thomas, I love you, I love _this_.”

“I love you, too, darling.” says Thomas with a laugh.

For a few minutes they say nothing. Instead they revel in each other's skin and sweat and pleasure. Thomas grips Seth’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises from his fingertips, while Seth drags his nails down his back, leaving long red lines that crisscross along his spine. 

“Make me feel it,” says Seth, “I want to feel this on the train tomorrow. I want to feel it for _days_.”

“As you wish, love,” says Thomas, and he pounds into him as hard as he can, in and out like a piston.

Seth loses all composure, arching his back wantonly and making the most beautiful, filthy sounds. Thomas tightens his grip on Seth’s cock, and soon the other man is coming into his hand. As Seth collapses, boneless, Thomas pushes his legs forwards until he’s bent in half. He’s close now, and Seth knows it.

“ _Give it to me_ ,” he says, breathless, “ _Give it to me, I need it, baby, I need to feel it inside me, please._ ”

He reaches up and grips Thomas’s hair tight. The touch of pain sends Thomas over the edge, and with one final thrust, he comes deep inside him.

Exhausted, Thomas falls on top of Seth, who laughs and welcomes him with open arms.

Thomas stays there for a moment, enjoying the way his bones seem to sing in the aftermath, before finally rolling over.

“I make you see new colors, eh?” Thomas asks, glancing over at Seth. “What’s that like?”

Seth stares up at the ceiling as he considers this. “It’s like if lavender felt like green and teal felt like gold.”

“And are there new numbers to go with these new colors?”

Rolling over to look at him, Seth grins. “Billions.”

It’s one of those things that only make sense when Seth says them. While Thomas feels he understands now, he knows that he’ll lose it the moment he tries to explain it to someone else. They feel like secret revelations that only the two of them have the privilege to know.

Thomas looks at the clock. It’s nearly one in the morning.

“Shit,” he says. “I should go.”

“Fifteen minutes,” says Seth. “Just lie with me for fifteen minutes.”

Smiling, Thomas pulls him close. “Of course, love.”

They clean up, then Thomas climbs back into bed to spoon his man as long as time will allow. As he holds him in his arms, he wonders what it would be like if Seth met his own sister, Margaret, if they’d get on, or if she’d slam the door in their faces like she did so many years ago. How would his life have turned out if she hadn’t abandoned him in his hour of need? Would he have ever left Manchester? Would he have made his way to Downton? Would he have been such a bully if life hadn’t been such a bully to him?

When the fifteen minutes are up, Thomas kisses Seth’s shoulder and whispers goodnight in his ear, then slips out of bed to get dressed.

  
  


  
  


The first thing Thomas sees when he reaches the bottom of the stairs is the glow of a candle coming from the Servants Hall. Frowning, he steps quietly into the room to see Silvia sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. The flicker of the candle on the table casts strange shadows across the room, as if ghosts were circling it in the darkness.

“Miss Starling?” says Thomas.

She looks up, then quickly averts her gaze. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be down here. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“No, ma’am, not at all,” says Thomas.

“You don’t have to call me ma’am,” she says. “Or Miss Starling. You can call me Silvia if you want, or Sil.”

“Very well, Silvia.” He pulls out a chair from across the table and sits down. “May I ask what you’re doing down here at this hour?”

She shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep. Nervous about the voyage tomorrow. I spent the trip here seasick in my cabin.”

Thomas smiles. “Your brother told me he gets seasick as well.”

Silvia takes another sip of her tea and sighs. “And it will probably be a long time until I see Seth again.”

Thomas wants to say that you never know, he might come visit, but he knows that’s unlikely.

“It was… difficult when he went away,” says Silvia, staring into her teacup. “I won’t say I didn’t blame him for what happened. We were both looking for someone to blame. He blamed himself and Jacob.”

“Jacob?” Thomas asks.

“The man who promised to marry me as soon as he could get a divorce,” she says. There’s nothing bitter in her voice, only weariness. “He left when Harriet died, said he had no more obligation towards me. Seth went off to find him. Never did, as far as I know.”

Not knowing what to say, Thomas stays silent as he processes this. He had imagined Seth’s departure from America as a young man looking for adventure, not… what? Revenge? Absolution? Perhaps it was all that and more.

“Seth tells me you drink the same tea as I do,” Silvia says.

Thomas nods. “Yes, St. John Wort. I find it very helpful when I’m feeling, ah, unbalanced.”

“Do you often feel unbalanced?” she asks.

He thinks about this for a moment before he answers. “Not as much anymore, which I suppose means the tea is working.”

“The tea can’t do all the work,” says Silvia. She takes another sip. “We have to do most of the work ourselves. The tea only provides a helping hand.”

All the changes Thomas has been through since he hurt himself come to mind.

“Yes,” he says. “I believe you’re right.”

A small smile spreads across her face. “I think I should be heading back to bed. Thank you for talking with me.”

“My pleasure.”

They say their goodnights, and Thomas takes the teacup to the kitchen sink. When he makes it back to his room, his whole body aches with exhaustion. He undresses slowly, too tired to think, and puts on his pajamas. While he’s glad it happened, this whole visit has been rather draining. He curls up in bed, and when he sleeps, he dreams of the ocean.

  
  
  


Silvia leaves the next morning without much ceremony. She says her goodbyes and thanks the Crawleys for their hospitality, then she and Seth depart for Southampton. Thomas watches the car drive into the distance for a while before heading back inside.

Once in the Servants Hall, he approaches Baxter, who sits at the table with her sewing machine.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Do you think that if I wrote to Mags, that is, Margaret, I’d get a response? A positive one?”

Baxter blinks up at him. “Have you not written to her before?”

“Not for years, no,” says Thomas. “But I think I’d like to. See how she’s doing, how her boys are, and whatnot.”

With a smile, Baxter tilts her head to the side. “Well then, I think you should. If she doesn’t respond, you can at least say you tried.”

Thomas nods at that, thanks Baxter, and heads for his office. He sits down at his desk and begins to write a letter.


	2. Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy returns to Downton as Lord Hexham's valet, and finds he must confront the changes that have happened since he left. (Thomas and Jimmy friendship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like this chapter. It's my first piece of Downton fic that isn't from Thomas's point of view, so I hope I've captured Jimmy well. Thanks again to Laramie for your encouragement!

**1930, Old Friend**

When he got the job as Lord Hexham’s valet, Jimmy knew it was only a matter of time before he returned to Downton Abbey, but he didn’t expect it to be like this. After a long and interesting life, the Dowager Countess has finally passed. Jimmy liked the old bat, especially because she said he looked like “a footman in a musical revue,” and was sad to hear of her passing, but he can’t help but be excited.

He’s never considered himself a nostalgic person, but he looks back on his time at Downton fondly. Sure, there had been some turmoil, but there was also friendship. It was there he spent his mid-twenties, when he was full of youthful carelessness. Now he’s a serious thirty-five, with a serious job as a serious valet. 

On the train from Brancaster Castle, he tries to tell Miss Wright, Lady Edith’s maid, stories about his time there, but she keeps her nose in a book the entire trip. She’s a pretty, young woman with strawberry blonde hair and rosy skin, but there’s a cold air about her. He doesn’t know what her problem is. Most women are usually at least somewhat interested in him, but she somehow resists his charms. 

Perhaps his charms are fading.

Perhaps she’s just frigid.

  
  
  


When they finally arrive, the place is a flurry of servants and guests. People crowd the Servants Hall, trying to get to where they’re needed. Jimmy’s seen Downton in mourning before, but this is different. It seems people from all over Britain have come to pay their respects to the Dowager. As he carries Lord Hexham’s bags through the hall, Jimmy goes up on his tiptoes to see above all the heads, trying to spot anyone he recognizes. 

Where’s Carson and Mrs. Hughes? Where’s Bates and Anna? Where’s Daisy?

Where’s Thomas?

That’s the person he’s been looking forward to seeing the most. He thinks he catches a glimpse of him turning a corner, but resists the urge to chase after him. He must get Lord Hexham’s bags to his room.

On his way upstairs, he finally runs into a familiar face.

Anna’s eyes widen when she sees him, and her face lights up with a smile. She’s got a fashionably short haircut now, but otherwise looks much the same.

“Jimmy!” she says. “What’re you doing here?”

“I am Lord Hexham’s valet,” Jimmy says with an air of pride.

“Well then, you’ve certainly gone up in the world,” says Anna. “It’s good to see you again. I’d love to catch up, but I’ve got work to do.”

“See you at dinner?” Jimmy asks.

She nods. “Yes, I’ll see you then.”

Anna then heads downstairs while Jimmy continues his way up.

  
  


Once all of Lord Hexham’s things are unpacked and ready, Jimmy goes back downstairs and out into the kitchen courtyard for a smoke, half expecting to find Thomas out there with a cigarette himself. Instead, the courtyard is empty. Jimmy doesn’t mind that, though. It’s nice to get away from the hustle and bustle. He lights up and sits down on the bench

Across the courtyard, a man steps out of the garage. He’s a strange fellow, skinny, with wild black hair and coveralls stained with motor oil. He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, then pats the rest of his pockets, searching for something. Coming up empty, he sighs.

“Shit,” the man says. He’s American. He looks up at Jimmy. “You got a light?”

Jimmy nods and pulls out his lighter as the man approaches. There’s something off about his walk, like he’s favoring his right side ever so slightly.

He takes the lighter with a “Thanks,” and lights up. He takes a long drag of his cigarette then hands the lighter back.

“You a chauffeur?” Jimmy asks.

The man shakes his head. “I work with Talbot and Branson at the motorshop. I come here on Saturdays to work on our racecar.”

“Racecar?” Jimmy sits up, interested. “Mr. Branson’s got into racing now, has he?”

“We build cars for Talbot’s old team, and refurbish old ones at the shop,” says the man. “What about you?”

“I’m valet to Lord Hexham.”

The man takes another drag. “That’s the one where you dress and undress a grown man, right?”

Jimmy frowns. “Among other things.”

“Lord Hexham ever return the favor?” the man asks with a cheeky grin.

Jimmy chokes on his cigarette, then looks up at the man with his lip curled. “ _I beg your pardon_? _No_ , he does _not_.”

The man laughs. “It’s just a joke, man, no need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“My knickers are _not_ \-- I’m not _wearing_ \--” Jimmy sputters before throwing his cigarette on the ground and stomping it out.

He stands up and heads back inside without another word to the awful American. A valet is a position of _respect_. He and his Lordship will not be degraded like this. 

  
  
  


Jimmy makes his way to the kitchen, and it’s a comfort to see Daisy and Mrs. Patmore bustle about just like they did when he worked here. They’re happy to see him, and he’s happy to see them.

“ _So_ much has changed since you left, Jimmy,” says Daisy.

Jimmy shrugs. “Looks much the same to me.”

“Well for one thing,” Daisy says as she holds out her left hand. “I got married.”

“What?” Jimmy says, gawking at the ring on her finger. “To who? Don’t tell me Alfred came back?”

Daisy makes a face and shakes her head. “No, not _Alfred_. His name is Andy. He used to work here as a footman but now he’s farming with Mr. Mason.”

Jimmy doesn’t know what kind of man would rather farm than work as a footman, but he’s happy for her all the same. “Well then, congratulations.”

“And you’ll never believe who else got married,” says Daisy, “Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes!”

“What, to each other?” Jimmy asks.

“Of course to each other!” says Daisy. “They’re both retired now, living in a cottage on the estate. Mr. Barrow’s the butler now.”

Jimmy grins. “Mr. Barrow? Oh, I bet he’s pleased with that. Hope he hasn’t gotten too high and mighty!”

“No, not at all,” says Daisy. “He’s actually much nicer since he became butler. That and meeting Mr. Starling.”

“Who’s Mr. Starling?” Jimmy asks, a funny feeling growing in the back of his mind.

“He works at the motorshop with Mr. Branson and Mr. Talbot,” says Daisy. “He and Mr. Barrow are good friends.”

“Wha-- the American out in the garage?” says Jimmy, his mouth falling open. He can’t imagine Thomas being friendly with anyone so crass. Then, that feeling in the back of his head turns into a full-fledged thought. “Wait, they’re not _friends_ , friends, are they?”

Daisy blinks at him. “What’re you on about? You just said ‘friends’ twice.”

“You know what I mean,” Jimmy huffs.

Mrs. Patmore pushes in before Daisy can say anything. “It’s been nice catching up with you, Jimmy, but Daisy has to get back to work.”

“Of course,” says Jimmy with a nod. “I should be getting back to work, too.”

He says his goodbyes and leaves the kitchen, his head spinning with thoughts. Thomas isn’t _friends_ with that mad American, is he? Maybe they’re just regular friends, but even that’s hard to believe.

_Does Lord Hexham ever return the favor?_

Jimmy shakes his head as if to shoo the memory of the man’s vulgar joke out of his mind. Maybe that man is _like_ Thomas, and they’re friendly over that, but there’s no way they’re… you know. Thomas definitely has better standards. Jimmy is proof of that.

“Jimmy! Or should I say, Mr. Hexham.”

He looks up to find Thomas standing before him. His hair has a speckle of grey in it, but otherwise he’s the same man Jimmy knew all those years ago. He grins, his heart elated to see him.

“Mr. Barrow!” he says, eyeing Thomas. “Look at you, atop the ladder at last.”

Thomas ducks his head and smiles. “Yes, finally, and you, valet to a marquis!”

“It’s good to see you,” says Jimmy.

“You too,” says Thomas. “Now, would you mind playing the footman at dinner tonight? I’m afraid we’re rather outnumbered. You still remember how to wait a table, don’t you?”

Jimmy nods. “Of course I do.”

“Brilliant, thank you,” says Thomas. “Now, I must decant the wine.”

With that, he turns and walks off, leaving Jimmy alone in the corridor. That was it. That was their grand reunion. Jimmy stands there for a moment, not entirely sure what went wrong. _Did_ something go wrong? Was it wrong of him to expect something more?

On the train, he imagined Thomas being ecstatic to see him, with a big smile and a firm handshake. Instead he got some nice words and an order to help serve dinner. But that was just their first meeting. Thomas is obviously very busy now that he’s butler, but there should be plenty of time to catch up after dinner.

Jimmy smiles at that. It’ll be just like old times, staying up late and playing cards long after everyone else had gone up.

  
  
  


Despite the large party, dinner is a quiet affair. There are a few faces Jimmy doesn’t recognize, like the man sitting next to Lady Mary. Perhaps he’s Talbot, the man who opened a car shop with Branson. Other than that, serving dinner is a surreal experience, almost like he’s stepped back in time. The only thing missing is Carson lording over the place. Instead, there is Thomas. He’s not as serious or intimidating as Mr. Carson, but he carries with him a sense of grace and dignity that Jimmy likes. 

He’d hoped to sit next to Thomas at the servants’ dinner, but instead he’s crowded out to the other end of the table with his fellow visiting valets and lady’s maids. Throughout the meal, Jimmy shoots glances at Thomas, trying to catch his eye, but he seems absorbed in conversation with Baxter.

That’s odd. He doesn’t remember them being friends, even though Thomas got her a job. In fact, there was some sort of tension between them that Jimmy always found odd, but Thomas would never explain it.

“ _She’s here to help me_ ,” he would say. “ _That’s all you need to know._ ”

Miss Wright, who sits next to him, nudges him with her elbow.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks in a low voice. “You look miserable.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I’m not. Mind your business.”

  
  
  


Once dinner is over and Daisy begins clearing the table, Jimmy finally manages to catch up with Thomas before he gets back to work.

“Fancy a game of cards when everyone’s gone up?” he asks.

Thomas gives him a curious look then shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. We’ll all have to get up early for the service tomorrow.”

“Oh,” says Jimmy, pushing down his disappointment. “That’s alright then. We can catch up some other time.”

“If I can,” says Thomas before brushing past Jimmy and heading up the stairs.

_If he can_? Surely a butler has _some_ free time, even during a busy couple days like these.

Jimmy ends up playing cards with the other valets and a footman who might’ve been a hallboy when he worked here. Eventually, the bell for Lord Hexham’s room rings, and Jimmy goes upstairs to get him ready for bed.

He likes Lord Hexham. He’s kind and polite, and spent most of his life in the real world. He talks to Jimmy like he’s a real person, not just a servant.

“Enjoy catching up with your old colleagues?” asks Lord Hexham as Jimmy takes off his jacket.

“Yes, milord,” Jimmy says. “Although I haven’t been able to catch up with all of them. Everyone’s rather busy lately.”

Lord Hexham nods and begins to unbutton his waistcoat. “I can understand that. Perhaps you’ll have some downtime after the service.”

“Perhaps,” says Jimmy. He takes the waistcoat and hangs it up in the armoire.

“Do you find Downton much changed?”

Jimmy chews the inside of his cheek as he thinks of an answer. “It looks the same on the outside, milord, but it seems things have changed on the inside. The staff’s changed, the family’s changed. There’s even a new dog.”

Lord Hexham chuckles at that. “Well, we all must change with the times, even long-standing institutions like Downton Abbey.”

Jimmy pulls out Lord Hexham’s pajamas from the dresser. “Yes, milord, I suppose we must.”

  
  
  
  
  


Jimmy does not attend the service. He’d hoped that Thomas would skip it as well, and they would be able to talk while everyone’s gone, but he was disappointed once again. Instead, he spends the morning playing solitaire. As he lines the cards up on the table, a hollowness grows in this chest. Lord and Lady Hexham will only be staying another night, and Jimmy might not have a chance to catch up with Thomas at all.

A voice in the back of his head wonders if Thomas just doesn’t _want_ to see him, but that can’t be true. Thomas had been a devoted friend when Jimmy was here. There’s no reason for him to turn his back on Jimmy now.

_Except he’s got a_ new _friend, a friend that gives him what he wants,_ says the voice.

Jimmy wills the voice to shut up. He doesn’t know for a fact that’s what Thomas’s relationship with Starling is like, and it’s rude to assume.

_But what if they are?_

Jimmy carefully lays a red card over a black one. When he left Downton, he wished Thomas happiness, but he never considered what that might actually entail. Now it seems that Thomas has everything he ever wanted.

_He wanted you, but he doesn’t have that._

Jimmy frowns at the thought. Throughout their friendship, they never talked about Thomas’s inclinations towards men, and more importantly his inclinations towards Jimmy. He hid it well enough that most of the time Jimmy forgot about it, but every once in a while, when they were up late playing cards or talking, Thomas would get this sad, lonely look in his eyes, and Jimmy would remember why they became friends in the first place.

The back door opens, and various servants flood in, Thomas among them. He doesn’t even look at Jimmy as he walks by.

  
  
  
  


The day passes quietly. Jimmy irons Lord Hexham’s shirts and brushes his jackets and shines his shoes, and says little to anyone. The hollowness in his chest grows. Most of the guests leave that afternoon, so the crowded Servants Hall soon becomes empty.

He sits at the table, sewing a button onto one of Lord Hexham’s shirts, when the thunderous roar of a motorbike erupts in the air. It stops, and soon Mr. Starling walks in through the back door. He carries a basket full of something warm and sweet on the crook of his elbow. He steps into the Servants Hall and sets the basket on the table.

“Do you know where Mr. Barrow is?” he asks.

Jimmy shrugs. “He’s busy.”

“Well, I’ll wait in his office then,” says Starling. “He’ll know I’m here. In the meantime, feel free to have a berliner.”

“What’s a berliner?” Jimmy asks.

“These!” Starling says, lifting the cloth covering his basket to reveal a pile of round pastries covered in powdered sugar.

Jimmy’s mouth waters at the sight of them, but he doesn’t take one.

Starling heads off for the office and leaves the basket on the table. The scent permeates the Hall, and soon various servants come in to grab their share of the treat.

“Ooh, I’d hoped he would bring something,” says Anna as she comes in.

“Better be careful with these,” says Baxter. “You don’t want powdered sugar on your dress.”

Jimmy watches them with some disdain. Behind them, Jimmy catches a glimpse of Thomas walking by. He stuffs his sewing kit into his pocket and folds the shirt over his arm as he gets up from his chair and heads off after Thomas.

He watches him go into his office and close the door. Jimmy stops, hesitant, then cautiously approaches the door. He can hear voices on the other side.

“You didn’t have to come,” says Thomas.

“I knew you were having a rough few days and I wanted to check on you,” says Starling. “Is that so wrong?”

“No, I suppose it’s not. Sit down while I get some tea.”

At that, Jimmy turns around and walks away, not looking back while Thomas opens the door and heads for the kitchen.

So, Thomas has no time for Jimmy, but will have tea at the drop of a hat for Starling.

He needs a cigarette.

  
  
  
  


Jimmy doesn’t bother trying to catch Thomas’s attention for the rest of the day. He tries to keep his mind occupied with work and cards, and finds himself smoking much more than he usually does. Funny, it was Thomas who got him to pick up the habit. Thomas, who looked so debonair surrounded by a cloud of smoke that Jimmy wanted to look the same.

After dinner, he sits on the bench out in the kitchen courtyard, looking at the stars. Mr. Starling and his pastries and his motorbike are long gone, but his presence lingers. The fact that he can just roll on up to the house without notice annoys Jimmy to no end. Do the Crawleys know that this man bothers their staff whenever he wants, or does he bribe them with baked goods as well? And for that matter, what kind of mechanic _bakes_?

The back door opens and who should walk out but Thomas Barrow.

Jimmy chokes a bit on his cigarette, feeling somehow both angry and elated to see him. Thomas pulls out a silver cigarette case engraved with an art deco design from his pocket and selects a cigarette. That’s new. The Thomas that Jimmy used to know only ever had store-bought packs.

“Good evening, Jimmy,” he says as he lights up.

“Is it?” says Jimmy, looking away from Thomas and taking a long drag.

Thomas puts his case and lighter back in his pocket. “What’re you on about?”

“Is it a good evening?” Jimmy asks. “Because it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

Exhaling a plume of smoke, Thomas looks at him with narrow eyes. “Once again, _what’re you on about_?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Jimmy taps the end of his cigarette and the ash falls to the ground.

“No, I haven’t,” says Thomas. “I’ve been busy, you know that.”

“So you say,” Jimmy says. “But you’re not too busy to have tea with that American.”

Thomas blinks at him. “What d’you know about it?”

“All I know is, you’re too busy to catch up with me, but the moment that American shows up, suddenly you have free time.” Jimmy drops his cigarette on the ground and goes to light up another. “What’s wrong with you? Aren’t we mates anymore?”

“Jimmy--” Thomas huffs and looks away. “Jimmy, we were barely mates in the first place.”

His words both sting and enrage. Jimmy jumps up from the bench and reels in on him. 

“ _What_?” he hisses. “Of course we were mates!”

Thomas rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Let’s be realistic, here. You only became friends with me because you felt sorry for me, and then you dropped me the minute you could.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” says Jimmy. “And I didn’t _drop_ you, I was _sacked_.”

Taking another drag, Thomas gives him a dark look. “And then you bloody vanished into thin air. I haven’t heard one word from you in _six years_.”

Jimmy takes a step back. “Wha-- I, I told you I wasn’t one for letters.”

“You could’ve tried!” Thomas says, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t know _anything_ about where you’d gone or how you were doing. For all I knew, you were _dead_.”

“That’s not fair, I--”

“I _cared_ about you, Jimmy,” says Thomas. His voice cracks a little bit, and it breaks Jimmy’s heart to hear it. “And you sure as hell didn’t care about me.”

“That’s not true!” Jimmy says, but Thomas is already turning around.

He drops his cigarette on the ground and pulls the backdoor open. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Hexham,” he says, then slams the door behind him.

His Lordship’s name, which usually gave Jimmy so much pride, now reeks with shame and disappointment. It’s as if something were offered but immediately snatched away. His face grows hot and tears sting Jimmy’s eyes, but he rubs them away before they can fall. He’s a grown man. He’s not going to blub over this.

He is going to fix it.

  
  
  
  


After Jimmy readies Lord Hexham for bed, he waits until all the servants have gone up to make his move. He creeps out of his bedroom, and heads for what he remembers to be Thomas’s room when he worked here, but there’s no name on the door. Biting his lip, he knocks softly, but the force of it is enough to push the door open by a few inches. Jimmy glances up and down the hall, then pushes the door open further and peeks inside.

The room is empty.

It then occurs to him that at Brancaster Castle, the butler sleeps downstairs. He had assumed that Thomas would sleep in the attics like Carson did, but maybe he decided against it. After he closes the door to the empty room, Jimmy tiptoes down the men’s corridor and makes his way downstairs.

The Servants Hall is dark, with long shadows along the walls and floor, except for a light shining underneath the door to the butler’s office. Jimmy expected Thomas to be in bed by now, but maybe he has some extra work to catch up on. As he approaches the office, he hears Thomas’s voice on the other side, but can’t make out what he’s saying.

Jimmy takes a deep breath and knocks.

The muffled voice on the other side stops, then says, “Who is it?”

“It’s Jimmy,” he says. “Can we talk?”

There’s a pause, then, “Alright.”

Jimmy enters the room just as Thomas hangs up the telephone. He sits at his desk with his jacket hanging off the back of the chair and his tie undone. Strands of hair fall onto his forehead, and the beginnings of circles sit under his eyes.

Thomas gestures to the seat across from him. “Sit down.”

Jimmy sits, tempted to ask just who Thomas was calling so late at night, but pushes the temptation away.

“Things are wrong between us,” he says instead. “I want them to be right.”

“You can’t always get what you want,” says Thomas.

Jimmy sighs. “I know that, I just wanted to-- I think I ought to explain why I didn’t write.”

Thomas looks at him for a long moment before folding his arms across his chest. “Go ahead, then.”

“It’s not because I didn’t care about you,” says Jimmy. “I planned to write when I got on my feet, but that took longer than I thought it would, a _lot_ longer. I was… I was ashamed, really. Embarrassed.”

Frowning, Thomas gives him a hard look. “And when you finally did get on your feet?”

It takes everything to keep Jimmy from squirming in his chair under Thomas’s gaze. “It just… It just felt like it had been too long. I should have written, I know that now, and I’m sorry.”

Thomas sighs. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about why you didn’t write. It’s just, well, I’ve felt… abandoned by people before. I rather lumped you in with them.”

“Can we pick up where we left off, then?” Jimmy asks with a small smile.

Unfolding his harms, Thomas runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure if we can.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been through a lot in these past years. I’ve changed. I’m not exactly the man I was six years ago.”

Jimmy’s heart sinks as his body sinks in his chair. “And you have new friends, now. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Are you talking about _the American_ , as you called him?” Thomas asks.

Jimmy nods. “You’ve replaced me, haven’t you?”

Thomas makes a face. “What? Jimmy, he’s not a _replacement_ for you. My relationship with Starling is its own matter. You don’t know anything about it.”

“No, I _don’t_ know anything about it,” says Jimmy, pouting. “I don’t even know what you see in him. He’s rude, and vulgar, and not even _handsome_.”

That makes Thomas laugh. “He’s handsome enough for me. And he may be rude and vulgar sometimes, but he’s also clever, and generous, and caring--”

“Alright, alright, I don’t need to hear about how wonderful he is,” Jimmy says, rolling his eyes.

Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Are you jealous?”

“Not like _that_ , but…” Jimmy swallows. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“I don’t think we can pick up where we left off,” says Thomas, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends again.”

“Do you mean it?” Jimmy asks.

Thomas nods. “I’m sure you’ve changed in the time since you left as well. We just have to get to know each other again.”

“Get to know each other again,” says Jimmy, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”

“And I’d like you to meet Starling properly,” says Thomas. “I think you’d get on if you got to know one another.” He gives Jimmy a soft smile. “It's late, and you have to get up early to catch the train. You should get to bed.”

Jimmy agrees, and pushes his chair back to stand up. “I’ll write this time, I promise. And you’d better answer.”

Thomas laughs. “I will.”

They say their goodnights, and Jimmy heads back upstairs. 

  
  
  
  


Three months later, the Hexhams return to Downton Abbey for another visit, and Jimmy properly meets Mr. Starling, or Seth as he prefers to be called. The three of them gather in Baxter’s sitting room for tea.

“Sorry if I offended you back when we first met,” says Seth as he piles spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his teacup.

“No worries,” says Jimmy, but Thomas speaks over him.

“Offended?” he says. “What did you do?”

Seth laughs. “I made a bad joke, is all. I’m always trying to be funny, but I don’t always succeed.” He turns to Thomas. “Blondie here’s not funnier than I am, is he? Because I don’t think my ego would be able to handle it if he were both better looking _and_ funnier than me.”

Jimmy smiles, glad to see that Seth can admit that he is at least better looking than him.

Tilting his head to the side, Thomas thinks for a moment. “No, he isn’t funnier than you, but he is better at the piano.”

“What?” Seth’s mouth drops open in shock. “Well, I’m smarter than he is, ain’t I? I speak four goddamn languages!”

“I’m not convinced Yiddish and German are separate languages,” says Thomas before taking a sip of his tea.

“Of course they are!” says Seth. “I mean, they’re related, but--”

“And I’ve heard Talbot say your Russian isn’t as good as you think it is.”

“Talbot doesn’t know _shit_ about Russian!”

Thomas throws his head back and laughs. Jimmy watches their back-and-forth as he sips his tea, his heart full. Change can be difficult to accept, but it’s easier when it makes people happy, and Jimmy can see that this strange little man makes Thomas very happy. He told Thomas all those years ago that he hoped he would find happiness, and it seems he finally has.

“I’m certainly more respectable than you,” says Jimmy. “I haven’t heard this much swearing since I was in the army!”

“And you’re about to hear some fucking more,” says Seth.

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Oh, you’re just trying to act tough. Jimmy, did I tell you he took _ballet_ lessons as a child?”

Jimmy laughs as Seth nearly drops his teacup.

“I told you that in confidence!”

Jimmy’s happy too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Come say hi to me on Tumblr! I'm chambergambit there too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth's past catches up with him.

**1933, The Bloody American**

Although he wakes up in pain, Seth Starling is happy, because today is Thomas Barrow’s afternoon off. Any time off at all is few and far between for Thomas, so Seth is determined to make the most of the day. First thing is a hot bath to relieve his aching back and to make sure every nook and cranny is squeaky clean. Then he starts putting together the batter for a victoria sandwich cake, Thomas’s favorite. As Seth cracks an egg against his mixing bowl, Talbot and Branson arrive to start their work day, and pop upstairs to say hello.

“I suppose you have big plans for the day,” says Talbot, pouring Branson and himself cups of coffee.

Seth nods as he measures a cup of sugar. “First, we’re getting lunch at the pub by the train station, then we’ll have a nice walk back here where he’ll bugger me senseless, and then we’ll have cake!”

Branson groans from his seat on the couch. “Do you have to put it like _that_?”

“Like what?” Seth asks.

“You _know_ what!” says Branson as Talbot hands him his cup.

“Could you two make an effort to keep it down today?” asks Talbot. “The last time you and Barrow were, ah, _being romantic_ in the flat, customers heard, and I ended up telling them the place was haunted.”

“We’ll try,” says Seth as he adds flour and butter to the mix. “But I make no guarantees.”

“Will there be any cake left for us?” Branson asks.

“Probably,” says Seth, “But once again, I make no guarantees.”

Once the cakes are in the oven, Seth sets out to tidy up the flat. He sweeps the floor and puts the books back on the shelf and straightens the stack of papers on his desk. Thomas likes things nice and tidy, and Seth wants him to know he cares.

When the flat is, if not sparkling, then at least no longer a mess, and the cakes are out of the oven to cool, Seth makes the buttercream. To him, baking is like solving a puzzle; you have to put all the parts together in just the right way, and if you manage to do it correctly, you get a treat to share with your friends! And if you manage to put things together _very_ well, you get to one-up your sister who is otherwise better than you at everything.

Sil might not be here to witness Seth’s culinary prowess, but he likes to think she can sense it across the Atlantic. 

Seth puts the finished sandwich cake in the refrigerator, then pops two pain pills before going to get dressed. His spine protests as he bends down to tie his shoes, and Seth contemplates getting out his back brace, but decides against it. If he wears it, then Thomas will notice when they take their clothes off, and he’ll fuss about with worry, and they might not get to buggery at _all_. 

Nope, can’t have that. No back brace today.

The pills kick in just as he leaves the flat. The pain melts away into a sensation not unlike floating. If he took more pills, that sensation could evolve into euphoria, but Seth doesn’t do that anymore. He no longer needs to fall into a dreamy void to hide from the cruelties of his life and his lies. Now he lives a life of truth and love.

While the sun is bright, the air is chill, and Seth pulls his coat in closer as he walks down the street. Old York does not have the energy of New York. While New York is frantic, dirty yet glamorous, York has a serene simplicity to it. Maybe it’s the wet cobblestones under his feet and the scent of chocolate in the wind.

The walk to the train station, pleasant as it is, has some ghosts. Seth’s favorite fish and chips stand is gone, and the Amethyst, with its infinite selection of purple items, has been replaced by tailor. Many of the little shops Seth liked when he first came here have shut down and been taken over by other businesses. A few even sit empty, like eerie little caves in the middle of the city.

He turns a corner, and stops in his tracks at the sight of an unshaven man in shabby clothes sitting on the pavement and holding out a tin cup. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his coin purse. He picks out a few coins and drops them into the man’s cup. 18 pence, a lucky number.

The man thanks him, and Seth smiles as he passes, but his heart aches. The newspapers have been calling this economic downturn The Great Slump. Seth has started to avoid newspapers, especially international news. There’s only so much he can take.

As he enters the train station, Seth checks his watch, a gift from Thomas. His train should be arriving in a few minutes. He waits on the platform, rolling back and forth on his feet and watching the people around him go by. Porters load and unload luggage while travelers say hello and goodbye to their loved ones.

A whistle pierces the air as the train pulls into the station. Seth walks alongside it, heading for the third-class cars. He stops when the doors open, and the passengers disembark.

Seth’s face splits into a grin when he spots Thomas in the crowd. His man, tall and fine with clean lines and crisp corners like a Leyendecker painting. He smiles back at Seth as he makes his way towards him. The urge to throw his arms around him and plant kisses all over his face surges through Seth, and he has to shove his hands in his coat pockets to resist it.

“Thomas!” he says. Seth loves the way his name fits in his mouth, a delicious morsel of sound.

Thomas stops in front of him and holds out his hand. “Seth.”

His voice is warm in the chilly air, sending tiny shivers across Seth’s body. He shakes Thomas’s hand and relishes in the contact of skin. Thomas’s hand is larger than his, and his handshake is firm. Seth doesn’t want to let go, but they’re in public, so they must.

“Lunch at the White Hart?” Seth asks.

“Sounds lovely,” says Thomas.

They make their way to a pub across the street from the train station. The two men walk side by side, sneaking little glances at each other along the way. Even after seven years, Thomas still makes Seth’s heart flutter. This beautiful, complicated man who saw Seth with all his scars and missing pieces and told him he was perfect.

The pub is crowded, but they manage to find a booth in the corner. Thomas orders a beer while Seth gets a bottle of pop. Underneath the table, Seth taps his right foot against Thomas’s, finding comfort in even the tiniest of touches.

“How’s Downton?” he asks. “Sure they can manage one afternoon without you?”

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure,” says Thomas. “We’re in desperate need of a second footman, but we still haven’t gotten any applicants. You’d think we would, with so many people looking for work nowadays.”

“It’s a pretty niche profession,” says Seth. “I think most people would rather work in factories or shops.”

Thomas nods and sighs. “There’s nothing wrong with working in service, but it’s certainly lost its prestige.”

“Looks like Lord Grantham will have to pour his own wine at dinner for a while.”

“Certainly not,” says Thomas. “That’s _my_ job.”

As the barmaid brings them their drinks, the pub’s door opens, and in walks someone Seth hasn’t seen in a decade. His stomach drops at the sight of Alistair Alderman, a tall man with light brown hair and a pencil mustache that Seth always found hideous. Seth ducks his head, letting his hair fall into his face in the hopes that it will shield him from his old colleague.

“What is it?” asks Thomas, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” says Seth, but Alderman has already spotted him.

“Starling? Is that you?” Alderman asks as he pushes his way through the other patrons. He claps a hand on Seth’s shoulder, jostling him. “It _is_ you, you rascal! The bloody American himself! What on Earth are you doing in York? I thought you ran off to Berlin!”

“Berlin isn’t exactly a great place for people like me anymore.” says Seth bitterly. “Anyway, I live here. What’re _you_ doing here?”

“Oh, I’m visiting some family. I’ll be staying at this fine establishment for a whole week,” says Alderman. He turns to take a look at Thomas, who eyes him warily. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your handsome friend?”

“Thomas Barrow, meet Alistair Alderman,” says Seth. “Alderman and I used to work together, ages ago.”

Thomas’s eyebrows raise, but he shakes Alderman’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” says Alderman before he turns back to Seth. “It’s been a long time since Minsk, hasn’t it? Never thought I’d see your sorry face again, let alone in Yorkshire.” 

He throws his head back and laughs. Seth grits his teeth at the sound.

“Minsk,” says Thomas, his voice oddly flat.

“Well,” Alderman says as he claps Seth on the shoulder one more time. “I believe I see my cousin, so I’ll leave you gentleman to it. Good to see you again, Starling.”

“You too.”

Alderman walks off, and Seth lets out a breath. A dull pain pulses in his spine.

Thomas reaches across the table, stopping just before he touches Seth’s hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Seth says. He takes a sip of his pop and wishes that he could drink alcohol with his medicine. “It’s just weird seeing someone from… you know.”

“Your old job,” says Thomas. He leans back in his chair and purses his lips. “I know you’ve said you don’t want to go back to it, but I’ve sometimes wondered if there are parts of it that you miss.”

Seth frowns. “Like what?”

“The traveling, mostly. Seeing beautiful, faraway places like Berlin or Vienna or, er, Minsk.” says Thomas with a shrug. “You’ve been in one place for seven years now, and it’s not a particularly exciting place.”

Fidgeting with the bottle, Seth looks down at his hands. “It was exciting sometimes, but mostly it was just stressful. I didn’t get to appreciate the places I went to very much. I get to appreciate the place I’m in now.” He looks up and smiles at Thomas. “And the people.”

Thomas smiles back.

They order their food and change the topic to the latest Downton news, like Mary’s latest painting and the upcoming cricket match. The conversation is awkward and stilted. Seth keeps losing focus and staring off into space. The place where Alderman touched his shoulder feels colder than the rest of his body, as if it were exposed to a freezing wind.

_Minsk was so cold_ , he thinks. _So cold it was all you could feel._

Thomas’s voice is distant, blending in with the noise of the pub. Seth shifts in his seat, trying to find an angle that works for stupid, fakakta spine. He rubs his hand over his mouth, his fingers moist from the condensation on his soda bottle. Maybe he just needs a cigarette. He stares at the plate of food in front of him. When did it come? Is this even what he ordered? Any appetite he had before has disappeared.

Seth comes out of his fog when Thomas places his hand over his, a dangerous move in public. He looks up, blinking as Thomas comes into focus. He’s leaning forward in his chair, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Love,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Clearing his throat, Seth shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.” Thomas squeezes his hand. “Let’s get you out of here, get some fresh air, alright? Then we can go back to the flat and be alone.”

Seth closes his eyes, and realizes just how dizzy he feels. “Yeah. Yeah, ok, let’s do that.”

Thomas gets up to take care of the bill, and Seth takes one last sip of his pop before getting up as well. He spots Alderman on the other side of the pub, deep in conversation with someone Seth can only see from behind. Turning away, he chooses to keep his eyes on Thomas at the bar.

_Oh, my man I love him so_ , sings Fanny Brice in his head. _He’ll never know_.

The bill now settled, Thomas comes back to where Seth is standing, and they make their way out of the pub.

  
  
  


Once outside, Seth pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook from his pocket. Striking the match is satisfying, and the nicotine soothes his nerves as he inhales the smoke. He bumps his arm against Thomas’s and holds out his pack. Thomas smiles at him and takes a cigarette, lighting it with the silver lighter he keeps on him at all times. Seth would use a lighter himself, but there’s something he likes about striking a match, something cathartic. Besides, he’d just lose the thing, and matchbooks are easily replaced.

They walk down the street in silence. A slow exhaustion aches in Seth’s bones. Why did seeing Alderman affect him so much? Was it even Alderman that did it?

_Of course it was_ , he thinks. _And you know exactly why, you bastard._

The journey back to the shop clears his mind a little bit, and he begins to come back to himself. He remembers that this is a _good_ day, this is Thomas’s afternoon off, and there’s cake back at the flat, cake and a bed just big enough for the two of them. As the shop comes into view, Seth smiles to himself and drops the cigarette on the ground.

Through the shop window, Seth can see Talbot talking to a young couple in the showroom. He flashes them his handsome grin and gestures to one of the cars. Talbot’s the real salesman of Grantham Auto. He talks about cars like they’re magical, life-changing machines, and customers believe him.

They enter the shop, and nod to Talbot as they head for the back stairs. Thomas closes the door to the stairway behind them, then crowds Seth up against the wall and kisses him. Seth melts into the kiss, grasping at Thomas’s coat to pull him in closer.

“Couldn’t wait to do that,” says Thomas, his breath hot against his skin.

Seth grins and takes his hand, leading him up the stairs. “We have to be quiet, apparently customers might hear us.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” says Thomas as they reach the top.

“Neither can I.”

They enter the flat and hang their coats and hats up. Excitement buzzes his Seth’s veins as they make their way across the room. The look in Thomas’s eyes has him aroused already. He kisses Seth again and pushes him backwards into the bedroom, where he sits him down on the bed.

Thomas cups his gentle hands around Seth’s face and looks down at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” says Seth. “I missed you.”

Bending down, Thomas places another kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I missed you too, love.”

They talk just about every night on the telephone, and have tea at Downton on Saturdays, but it’s not the same as being able to touch and hold one another. Seth breathes in deeply through his nose as Thomas kisses him again. He always smells so _good,_ and it’s not just his aftershave. There’s something about his particular musk that makes Seth’s head spin in the best way.

Seth begins to pull at his waistcoat, ripping it open, but Thomas stills his hands.

“Let me do that, love,” he says.

Thomas proceeds to undress him slowly, nuzzling his face against the newly revealed skin. Seth tries to pluck at Thomas’s clothes, desperate to return the favor, but Thomas stops him.

“There’s no need to rush,” he says, his voice so soft it’s agonizing. “Let me take care of you.”

Seth does so, and soon he’s lying naked back on the bed with Thomas nestled between his legs. Thomas places wet kisses on his stomach, working his way down to his aching cock. This pleasure, this bliss is a better high than drugs ever gave him in his misspent youth, and a greater thrill than his old job could ever provide.

As Thomas’s hot tongue drags along the shaft of his cock, Seth claps his hands over his mouth, suddenly remembering the need to be quiet. A whimper escapes through his fingers when Thomas takes the head into his mouth. His tongue teases at the slit as he slips his arms underneath Seth’s legs and lifts them up over his shoulders. Raising his head to see him better, Seth takes his hands away from his face and bites his lip. Thomas looks up at him and _sucks_ , causing Seth to cry out.

He lets the cock fall from his lips and grins. “Hush, darling, we mustn’t disturb the customers.”

“You’re a bastard,” Seth says.

Thomas just kisses the tip of his cock, then smiles, and kisses the base, before going even lower. Seth instinctively lifts his hips to give him better access, and soon Thomas is lapping at his sensitive hole.

Trying not to squirm, Seth covers his mouth with his hands again and whines. That warm, wet tongue circles his rim, setting his nerves on fire. His vertebrae pop as he arches his back, but any pain is drowned out by intense pleasure. His body trembles when Thomas begins to push his tongue inside him, and precome dribbles onto his stomach.

No other man has ever been this dedicated to making him feel good. Sure, his lovers in the past made him come, but they were more focused on their own pleasure than his. They didn’t take their time, and Seth didn’t either. Sex was hard and fast and perfectly enjoyable, but it wasn’t like this. Thomas makes him feel strong and delicate at the same time, vulnerable but protected. It's almost transcendent, straddling the line between this world and some higher place.

Maybe that’s why Thomas likes to call it _making love_ and not just _fucking._ Seth used to think the term was sappy and sentimental, but perhaps he just didn’t understand it.

As he licks into him, Thomas reaches around Seth’s thigh to wrap his hand around his cock. He pumps it, twisting his hand as he goes. Once, twice, and Seth is coming. His vision whites out as his orgasm surges through his body. Hot come splatters against his stomach and chest.

Thomas continues to lap at his hole for a few moments, as if savoring the taste of him. Seth drops his hands from his face, his limbs turned to liquid from Thomas’s ministrations.

“Fuck,” Seth says, breathless. 

Thomas finally pulls away from his hole and sits up. Seth reaches for him, feeling like he’s too far away down there. 

“Kiss me,” he says.

“What, even after what I just did?” asks Thomas, chuckling.

“I don’t care,” says Seth. “C’mere, just kiss me.”

Thomas climbs over him, then settles down against his body. The weight of him is comforting in a way Seth can’t articulate even in his mind, and when he kisses him, the earthy taste doesn’t matter, just the swipe of his soft tongue against his own.

“It seems you enjoyed that,” says Thomas, smiling against his lips.

“No fucking kidding,” says Seth. Thomas’s hard cock rubs against his hip, and Seth squeezes his thighs around his middle. “Get the jar, it’s in the drawer.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I need you inside me.”

Thomas nuzzles Seth’s cheek. “You _need_ it?”

“ _Yes_ , I need it,” Seth says, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I need you all the time, my fingers are never good enough.”

“Alright, alright,” says Thomas, reaching for the drawer in the bedside table.

He sits up as he pulls out the jar of oil, and Seth misses the weight of him already. Thomas coats the fingers of his right hand and pushes them inside him, curling and spreading to open him up. He pulls them out and scoops more oil out of the jar, lathering it onto his cock. Thomas lines himself up and pushes in.

Seth really did need this, this connection, this closeness. It washes over him as Thomas thrusts in and out. Thomas leans forward and kisses him again, running his left hand over his hair.

“I need this too, love, I need _you_ ,” he whispers.

“Oh, _Thomas_ ,” Seth breathes.

He’s never felt safer than in Thomas’s arms, never felt more at home. There’s no way he deserves this, but somehow, he has it anyway, and he’s never letting go. He must strive to be worthy of this love, and make Thomas feel as wonderful and cherished as he does.

“I love you so much, baby,” he says between kisses. “I’d die for you, you know that, right?”

“I know, love, don’t worry,” says Thomas, pressing a kiss to his temple.

When Thomas comes inside him, Seth holds him as tight as he can. He relishes the feel of it, closing his eyes and focusing so he can remember it when Thomas is back at Downton. His eyes are wet when he opens them, and his heart is so, so full.

They lay entangled for a few moments, sweaty and sticky, before Thomas gets up and heads for the bathroom for a washcloth to clean up.

“I made you a cake,” says Seth as Thomas wipes the come off his stomach.

“Why? It’s not my birthday.”

Seth kicks him lightly. “Because I love you, obviously.”

Thomas just laughs.

Soon they redress and leave the bedroom so Seth can get the plates and take the sandwich cake out of the refrigerator. Thomas sits down at the table between the stove and couch, and huffs bemusedly as Seth sets the cake in front of him.

“You spoil me,” he says.

“And you love it.”

He grins. “I do, indeed.”

Seth cuts the cake and gives Thomas a slice. He watches Thomas sink his fork into the slice as he takes his seat across from him. Thomas takes a bite, closing his eyes and humming with delight.

“Delicious, as always,” Thomas says, and Seth is satisfied enough to cut a piece for himself.

They eat their cake in comfortable silence, the only sound being the scrape of their forks against the plates. It _is_ delicious, and pride rises in Seth’s heart. If his sister were here, she’d begrudgingly admit that his cake is better than whatever it is she would bake.

_You win again,_ she would say. _But I’m still the one who finished high school and went to college._

And so what? You can’t spoil someone you love with a diploma.

“Seth?” Thomas says when he finishes his slice. He pushes the bits of remaining buttercream back and forth around the plate with his fork. “Could I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

Thomas purses his lips and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, as if searching for a way to phrase his question. “That man in the pub today. He called you _the bloody American_.”

Seth pauses as he wipes a bit of buttercream from his mouth with the back of his hand. “What about it?”

“I suppose I’m wondering, er…” Thomas takes a deep breath. “If in your old job, you ever, ah, hurt anyone.”

Licking the buttercream off his hand, Seth wonders how they’ve managed to make it this long without actually discussing this. His blood runs hot, and the fog he felt in the pub starts to return.

“Sometimes,” he says quietly. “When I had to.”

Thomas nods at this, understanding. “Is that-- is that what happened in Minsk? You had to hurt someone?”

“What makes you think something happened in Minsk?”

He gives Seth a hard look. “I am not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” says Seth, giving a hard look right back.

Letting out a sigh, Thomas lets his usually impeccable posture sag a bit. “You always have some sort of… _reaction_ whenever it comes up.”

“Like when?”

“Like right now,” he says. “You’re… defensive. I _know_ you, love. I notice. It concerns me.”

Seth looks down at his remains of his cake slice. He stares at it for a few moments as he collects his thoughts. “I did not hurt anyone there. They hurt _me_.”

“Who?” Thomas asks, his brow furrowed. He usually doesn’t push like this, but Seth supposes a combination of curiosity and worry have made him.

“My fellow agents,” says Seth. His hand tightens around his fork. “They thought the Cheka had turned one of us. They thought it was me. Not all of them, mind you, but most.”

“Cheka?”

“Soviet secret police.” Seth tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, he doesn’t want to talk about this at all, but he doesn’t want to shut Thomas down or lie to him, either. 

Thomas leans forward in his chair. “Why did they think it was you?”

“Because I was different from them. Jewish, American, queer. Pick one. They saw what the Cheka did to anyone they even _suspected_ of being disloyal, and they were terrified. They needed an outlet for their fear, so they beat the shit out of me, trying to get me to confess.” Seth takes a breath and turns to look out the window. “The _one_ group of people I wasn’t fucking lying to, and they turned on me. My back’s a goddamn mess to this day.”

He feels Thomas reach out and place his hand over his own. Seth turns back to face him. His eyes are wide and his mouth slightly open. Seth sighs and laces their fingers together. He’s always loved Thomas’s hands, strong and firm and elegant.

“I’m not entirely sure about everything that happened after that. I woke up in the hospital, and as soon as I was well enough, I was told they needed me in Berlin. I should’ve quit then and there. I don’t know why I didn’t. Maybe I wanted to prove them wrong, prove that I was trustworthy, that I was a good little soldier.” He closes his eyes. “Didn’t really work. I sorta fell apart in Berlin, couldn’t take the pressure anymore.”

“And that’s when you came here.”

Seth nods. Thomas rubs his thumb along his knuckles. It’s nice.

“That man in the pub wasn’t one of the ones who hurt you, was he?” Thomas asks.

“No, but he didn’t exactly stand up for me, either,” says Seth. “He was all, _I defer to the judgement of our superiors_.”

Thomas’s lip curls. “And then he just walks up to you and acts like you’re old friends.”

“Exactly.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, then Thomas says, “Thank you for telling me this.”

Seth gets up without really thinking about what he’s doing, and walks around the table to slide into Thomas’s lap. He drapes his arms around his shoulders and presses his face into the crook of his neck. With his eyes closed and Thomas’s scent filling his lungs, tension seeps from his body. Thomas smooths one hand up and down his back while the other sinks into his hair.

They stay like that for a long time. Seth feels small, but secure in his embrace. How did he ever manage without this? How much longer would he have lasted if he’d never found it? Thomas doesn’t have to say anything, Seth knows just what he means by his warm, soft touches.

_You are safe here._

_You are safe._

_You are safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got really emotional writing this lol. When I finished, I immediately needed to listen to "I Will Love You" by Gin Wigmore, not sure why.
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr! I'm chambergambit there too.


	4. A Lonesome Road to Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the second world war, Thomas and Seth must separate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Laramie and Dionaea_muscipula!

**1942, A Lonesome Road to Walk**

_ Dear Seth, _

_ Thank you for your last letter. I’m glad to hear you’re making friends at Headquarters, even if you can’t tell me much about them. I miss you terribly as well. Is there any chance you might be able to come up for a visit sometime soon? _

_ Things are hectic here. We’re quite understaffed now that our last footman has been called up, and we’ve had to have maids in the dining room to serve meals. We had this problem during the last war, however, so if we could handle it then, we can handle it now. _

_ The house is crawling with officers. It feels a bit like stepping into the past. I saw Miss Sybbie in her nurse’s uniform and for a moment I thought I was looking at her mother. Miss Caroline is helping out where she can, but at 16 she is too young to take a nursing course and contribute to the war in any official capacity, so she is understandably restless. So is Johnny Bates, who is also too young to even join the Home Guard. I know he’s quite eager to prove himself worthy of Miss Caroline, so I worry he might do something daft like lie about his age to join the army. _

_ Master George came home on leave last week, and we were all delighted to see him. He looks exactly like his late father in his uniform, and I must say Lady Mary was quite overcome. He’s since gone back to France, and we all pray for his safe return. _

_ According to my sister, my nephews have been called up. I know, rationally, that they are grown men now, but I only ever knew them as young children, so I still think of them as such. I wonder what they look like now. I pray for their safe return as well. _

_ I received a letter from Jimmy recently with news I thought you might find interesting. As you know, Brancaster Castle has been taking in evacuated children from all over the country, and Jimmy says they’ve even taken in a handful of Jewish children from the continent. He says they’re having some trouble fitting in, which is understandable, but the important thing is that they’re safe. _

_ I think of you every day. While this separation has been difficult, I’m glad that you’re only translating signals in Buckinghamshire, instead of on the continent doing whatever it is that you do. _

_ With all my love, _

_ Thomas. _

As he finishes his letter, Thomas lets out a sigh. He wishes he could put into words how much he misses Seth, how he treasures every letter, and yearns for the days when they could have a telephone call every night. It’s been months since Seth was last allowed to visit, and Thomas has had to make do with the photograph he keeps in his cigarette case.

He folds the letter and stuffs it into an envelope as he checks the clock for the time. It’s half-past ten at night, and Thomas really should be getting to bed. However, he could also really go for a cigarette. As he resigns himself to just one, the sound of the back door opening and closing echoes throughout the Servants Hall. Frowning, Thomas pushes out his chair and gets up to leave the office.

He pokes his head out the office door and peers into the dark corridor. It’s empty. Whoever opened the back door must have been leaving, not entering. Thomas debates leaving it be for a moment, then decides to check outside just in case, heading out into the shadowy hallway.

Thomas opens the back door to find an officer sitting on the bench out in the courtyard, lighting up a cigarette. Clearing his throat, Thomas gives the officer a hard look.

“You’re not supposed to be out here after hours,” he says.

The officer looks back at him and smiles as he takes out his cigarette and exhales a plume of smoke. He has a kind face, accentuated by a black mustache. “I didn’t want to disturb my fellow soldiers. You won’t tell on me, will you?”

Thomas frowns, deliberating. “Just this once.” He then steps outside, closing the door behind him. “And only because I need a smoke myself.”

He sits down next to the officer and pulls out his cigarette case. As he lights up, the officer looks him up and down.

“I’ve seen you around,” he says. “You work for the Crawleys, don’t you?”

“I’m Mr. Barrow, the butler,” Thomas says.

“Captain Webster,” says the officer. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

They make idle chit chat as they smoke. Captain Webster tells Thomas about the minor injury that led him to convalesce at Downton Abbey, noting how much luckier he is than some of the other poor chaps here. Thomas agrees, mentioning his time as a medic in the last war, and how this is not the first time the Abbey has hosted officers as they rest and recover.

As Thomas speaks, Captain Webster places a hand on Thomas’s knee. Thomas stops mid-sentence, his brain short-circuiting. The warmth of the captain’s hand bleeds through his trousers and into his skin.

They stay like that for a moment, before Webster finally says, “I’ve not offended you, have I?”

Thomas swallows, then shakes his head. “I-- I’m flattered, really,” he says.

“But?” asks Webster.

“But I, er, I’m currently waiting for my man to come home.”

The captain smiles, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight, and takes his hand off Thomas’s knee.

“Care to tell me about him?” he asks.

The corners of Thomas’s mouth twitch. He’s usually quite private when it comes to Seth, for obvious reasons, but Captain Webster seems like a friend, not a foe. Taking out his cigarette case again, he opens it up and pulls out the photograph he keeps of Seth, showing it to Webster.

“Blimey,” he says as he takes the photograph. “What a smile!”

Thomas smiles and nods. “The photographer tried to get him to be serious, but he wouldn’t stop laughing. He’s funny like that.”

“Where’s he serving?” asks Webster.

“He’s doing something with radio signals at Bletchley Park,” says Thomas. “I don’t really know more than that.”

“Lucky chap,” says Webster. He looks up at Thomas and grins. “In more ways than one. Did he give you that?” Webster gestures to Thomas’s hand.

“Oh, this?” Thomas touches the ring on his finger and smiles. “Yes, yes he did. The inscription says, well, I wouldn’t know how to say it in Hebrew, but it means ‘this too shall pass.’”

“I must say, I’m quite jealous,” says the captain. “You two clearly have something special.”

Thomas ducks his head. “We do.”

Webster claps a hand on his shoulder. “You hold onto it, alright?”

“Don’t worry,” says Thomas. “I will.”

They finish their cigarettes and say their goodnights. Captain Webster goes back inside, and Thomas stays out in the courtyard for a few more minutes, looking up at the stars, and wondering if Seth is looking up at them, too.

  
  
  
  


The next day, Thomas is heading downstairs when he passes Anna on her way up. She stops him, smiling brightly.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she says. “He’s in your office.”

Thomas purses his lips. He isn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself,” says Anna before continuing her way up the stairs.

Thomas eyes her warily as she makes her way upwards. There’s only one person he can think of who’d want to come see him, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. As he heads downstairs, however, excitement begins to bloom in his heart.

Once he reaches his office door, he takes a deep breath to calm himself.

_ It’s not going to be him _ , he thinks as he opens the door.

It’s him. Seth Starling leans back against his desk with a suitcase at his feet, his wild hair tumbling to one side. He grins and throws up his arms.

“Surprise!” he says.

A smile splits Thomas’s face as he closes the door behind him. He crosses the room and pulls Seth into a tight hug.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks. “You never said you were coming to visit!”

“I got some unexpected time off,” says Seth. He pulls Thomas in close and kisses his cheek. “Shit, it’s so good to see you.”

Thomas kisses him and laughs, his breath hot against their skin. “It’s good to see you too, love.”

Seth kisses him back, soft and sweet and full of longing after so much time apart. When he pulls away, he licks his lips and ducks his head.

“Listen, I gotta talk to you about something.”

Apprehension turns in Thomas’s stomach. He smooths his hands up and down Seth’s arms.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

Seth lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m being reassigned.”

Thomas frowns. “What do you mean?”

Reaching up to cup his face, Seth takes a deep breath. “I’m going to France.”

The apprehension in Thomas’s stomach turns into fear. “What? For how long?”

“I’m not sure,” says Seth, shrugging. “The assignment is kinda open-ended.”

“At least give me an estimate or something,” says Thomas. He steps back and runs a hand through his hair.

Seth swallows and leans back against the desk again. “A year, maybe more.”

“A  _ year _ ?!” Thomas looks at him with wide eyes.

“And it’s a delicate operation, so, um…” Seth turns his gaze towards the ceiling. “I won’t be able to write.”

Thomas blinks at him. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I assume that means no calls, either?”

Seth nods.

“You mean to tell me we’re to have at least a year of no contact?” Thomas says, his voice shaking and his mouth dry. “Can’t you turn the assignment down? Just, just tell them to go to hell. You can’t  _ do  _ this, Seth.”

_ You can’t do this to _ me.

“I’m sorry,” Seth says. He looks back at Thomas. “I have to. It’s just… what I have to do.”

They’ve been over this before, when Seth first went back to his old job at the start of the war. Thomas all but begged him not to do it, but Seth was convinced it was his responsibility to help the war effort in any way he could, and well, his old job is what he knows how to do.

Thomas’s eyes sting with tears. “What-- what about your leg and your back, and… and…”

“They’ll be fine. It’s not like I’ll be in the trenches.”

The idea isn’t much of a comfort. As far as Thomas is concerned, doing whatever he does in France will be just as dangerous.

“When are you leaving?” he asks.

“In a week.”

The tears begin to spill over, and Thomas wipes his cheeks with his hand. “So that’s why you’re here? That’s why they gave you some time off, I suppose?”

“Yeah,” Seth says. He reaches out and takes Thomas’s hand. “And I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

Thomas wants to get angry. He wants to scream and shout until his throat is sore. But he knows it won’t help, so instead he pulls Seth in close and rests his head on his shoulder. Seth rubs a comforting hand up and down his back. It’s a bitter-sweet sensation, tinted with the knowledge that it will soon be gone, and might not ever return.

“Can I stay in your room while I’m here?” Seth asks.

“We’ll have to be careful,” says Thomas, “but I think we can manage.”

“Thank you,” says Seth, placing a kiss on Thomas's temple. They stay like that for a few minutes before Seth says, “I should head upstairs, say hello to everyone.”

Thomas pulls away and nods. When Seth leaves, Thomas takes a moment to compose himself. It feels like the war has come for him personally, come for all he holds dear. He knew, rationally, that it was likely to be just as bad as the last one, but for a while he still held out hope that it would be shorter, less devastating.

But of course he was wrong.

  
  
  
  


The day goes by fast. He doesn’t get to see much of Seth as he performs his duties. Thomas catches a glimpse of him every once in a while, talking to Branson or Talbot or Mary. He envies them, how they can just sit down and have tea whenever they want, how they can leave the running of the house to others.

That’s not entirely fair. They have their own work to do, running the car shop and the estate, but Thomas still wishes his life were more like theirs, that he had more control over himself and others.

After dinner, Seth sneaks down to Thomas’s room, where they curl up together on the bed. It’s a tight fit, but they make it work, with Seth draped over Thomas like a blanket.

“I should tell you something,” says Thomas as he runs a hand through Seth’s hair.

Seth perks up, lifting his head to get a better look at him. “Yeah?”

“It, it’s nothing, really, but I feel like I should tell you,” Thomas says. He bites his lip as he tries to figure out how to put his thoughts into words. “The other night, there was an officer. He, er, made an advance.”

“Oh?” Seth arches his eyebrows, looking more amused than concerned. “In what way?”

“He put his hand on my knee.”

“And what did you do?”

Thomas shrugs. “I told him I was taken and he backed off.”

“That’s nice of him,” says Seth. He smiles. “Was he handsome?”

“Was he-- that’s not relevant!” Thomas rolls his eyes. “Oh, you don’t care at all, do you?”

“No, no I care, I absolutely care, I just...” Seth pauses, licking his lips. “I was thinking, actually. I would be, you know, alright with it, while I’m gone.”

“Alright with what?”

“With something happening with you and someone else.”

Thomas sits up, nearly pushing Seth off the bed. “ _ What _ ? How could you suggest such a thing?”

“Thomas, I’ll be gone a long time, and I, well, I just want you to be happy.”

Infuriated, Thomas shoves Seth off of him, climbs out of bed and starts pacing the room. Anger burns through his body like fire.

“That wouldn’t make me happy at all! I’m not going to  _ be  _ happy, understand? I’m not going to be happy until the war is over and you are safe at home!”

Seth sits up and dangles his legs, or what remains of them, over the edge of the bed. He sighs, and for a moment he looks like his years have caught up to him. He turned 47 this year, and while his hair hasn’t begun to grey (unlike Thomas), crows feet crinkle around his eyes and worry lines dig into his forehead. Thomas’s heart aches at the sight of him. They’ve had 16 beautiful years together, and Thomas doesn’t know how he’ll make do without him.

“Have you--” Thomas gulps at the thought that just occurred to him. “Have you  _ met  _ someone, is that why you’re saying this?”

Seth’s head jerks up. “ _ What _ ? No, not at all! I’m sorry I suggested it, alright? Will you please come back to bed?”

“Fine,” says Thomas, as he climbs back in. “But for the record, nothing is going to happen with anyone else, for either of us.”

Seth smiles as he rests his head on Thomas’s chest. “If that’s what you want.”

“Of course it’s what I want,” Thomas says. “And I know it’s what you want, even if you’re being ridiculous.”

Taking Thomas’s hand, Seth squeezes it, and kisses his fingertips. “I really am sorry I upset you.”

“It’s alright,” Thomas says. “I’m sorry that I… doubted your loyalty. I was just caught up in the moment.”

“I understand,” says Seth. “And I’m sorry that I have to leave.”

Thomas can’t say  _ it’s alright  _ to that, because it isn’t. Instead, he places a kiss to Seth’s forehead, and closes his eyes to go to sleep.

  
  
  
  


They spend their days having tea and taking walks whenever Thomas can step away from his work, and their nights cuddling and making love. Thomas knows every inch of Seth now, having had 16 years to memorize him. All of Seth’s nooks and crannies, every freckle, every scar are like old friends. He traces his fingers around them, not wanting to say goodbye.

It feels like they met a lifetime ago. When he first saw him from an upstairs window, Thomas had no idea that this strange little man would make such an impact on him, that he’d come to need him like oxygen.

How will he breathe while he’s away? How will he be able to eat and drink knowing that somewhere across the channel, Seth is unsafe and surrounded by the enemy? How will he be able to work, or sleep, or speak to anyone?

Thomas supposes he’s not the only one at Downton feeling this way. Lady Mary wept when her son first left to join the army, and all of the officers have still have brothers-in-arms fighting on the continent. Anna and Bates anguish at Johnny’s desire to prove himself in battle. Every day, another young man in the village is called up, and every day someone gets a letter saying their boy won’t be coming home.

Thomas prays harder and more often than he ever has in his life, even when he was in the trenches himself. Multiple times a day, he stops working for just a moment, twists his ring around his finger, and mentally begs either for Seth to change his mind, or for him to come home unscathed.

  
  
  
  
  


Baxter approaches him one afternoon while he’s in the office going over the books. She brings him a cup of tea and sits down in the chair across from him.

“It’s nice,” she says. “Having Mr. Starling come visit.”

“Yes,” says Thomas, not looking up from his ledger. “Very nice.”

“Which makes me wonder why you look so miserable.”

Thomas sighs and takes a sip of his tea. It’s bitter without any of the sugar that’s now harshly rationed, but it calms his nerves anyway.

“He’s only here because he’s leaving,” he says. “He’ll be heading to France at the end of the week, for a good long while.”

“I see,” says Baxter. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“I thought it hurt when he went away to Buckinghamshire,” says Thomas. He gulps and closes his eyes. “I had no idea it could get worse. At least he was safe there. God only knows what will happen to him now.”

Baxter reaches across the desk and places her hand over his. “I’m so sorry, Thomas.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back his tears. Baxter has seen him cry plenty of times over the years, you’d think he’d be used to it by now.

“I hate him,” he says quietly. “I hate him for doing this to me.”

“You and I both know you don’t hate him,” says Baxter, squeezing his hand. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

His shoulders deflate as he lets out a sigh. “You’re right, I don’t. I just hate that this is happening. It’s not fair.”

“War isn’t fair.”

“He’s pushing fifty and a bloody amputee. He shouldn’t have to do this, but he feels like he does, like it’s his duty.”

Baxter gives him a sad smile. “I never thought of Mr. Starling as the type of man to have much sense of duty before.”

Thomas smiles back. “He is, actually. He just hides it well.”

“So do you,” she says. “Or at least you used to. You’ve gotten a bit soft in your old age.”

Wiping his eyes, Thomas leans back in his chair. “I think I’ve always been soft, in a way. I just wasn’t able to show it, not until Seth came along, anyway.”

“It’s a good thing, I think, to have someone you can show your softness to.”

“It is until they hurt you,” says Thomas. “It is until they leave.”

“He’s not leaving you,” Baxter says. “He’s just… going away for a while.”

“And he might not come back.” Thomas’s voice cracks. He pulls his hand away from Baxter’s and begins to twist his ring around his finger.

“You mustn’t talk like that,” she says. “You have to hold out hope.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” says Baxter. “You have me, and Mrs. Parker, and the Bateses, and the family. You can lean on all of us.”

Thomas looks at her for a long moment. Phillys Baxter, with her greying hair and kind eyes, who has been his colleague and friend for nearly two decades, who is always there when he needs her.

“Thank you,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “You know, I always feel better after our talks.”

“Good,” says Baxter with a smile. “That’s why we have them.”

  
  
  
  


When the time comes for Seth to leave, he says goodbye to everyone upstairs first. They wish him jolly good luck, and he promises to give the Nazis hell for them. Then, he makes his way downstairs to see Thomas in the office. He wears the same old brown suit he’s had for years, even though it’s terribly old fashioned now, but Thomas likes the way he looks in it. It reminds him of old times.

Thomas pulls him in close, their bodies flush against one another.

“You  _ will  _ come back to me,” he says.

“Thomas, I--”

“Don’t tell me you can’t make any promises, because I don’t care. You  _ will  _ come back to me. You  _ will _ .”

“I will,” Seth says with a laugh. He then whispers in Thomas’s ear, “Would you kiss me like you did the first time?”

Thomas blinks at him for a moment, suddenly back to that cold February morning where they had their first kiss. He smiles and nods before placing his hands on either side of his face and pulling him in even closer. The kiss is chaste until he starts to pull away, and Seth grabs his waist, licking into his mouth.

There’s something desperate about it, needy and demanding, and in that moment Thomas realizes that Seth is just as terrified of losing this as he is.

When the kiss breaks, they both need to catch their breath for a moment. Then, Seth reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out an envelope. He presses it into Thomas’s hands.

“I wrote this for you yesterday,” he says. “I wanted you to have something to look at when you miss me.”

“I’ll be looking at it every minute of every day, then.”

Seth smiles at him. His eyes seem to glimmer.

“I tried to put everything into it,” he says. “I don’t know if I succeeded, but at least you know I tried.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, love.”

Ducking his head, Seth lets out a breathy laugh. “I still get dizzy when you call me that.”

Thomas brushes Seth’s hair out of his eyes and back behind his ear. “That’s why I keep saying it.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he says. “I promise.”

“I know, darling.” Thomas kisses his cheek. “Be safe. As much as you can, at least. Don’t do anything reckless, like kicking a grenade.”

Laughing again, Seth nods and kisses him back. “I love you, more than anything.”

“I love you, too.”

Seth gulps, and caresses Thomas’s cheek. “Until next time?”

“Yes,” says Thomas. “Until next time.”

With that, Seth leaves. Thomas stays in the office, unable to bear watching the car disappear into the distance. He stands there, clutching the envelope for a few minutes, breathing deeply. Once he’s calmed down enough, he sits down at his desk and opens the envelope.

_ Thomas, _

_ I wish I knew how to make this easier on both of us. I know you must hate me for leaving, but like I’ve said before, it’s my responsibility to do what I gotta do to help win this war. Please don’t feel like I’ve picked my old job over you. I’m fighting for you just as much as I’m fighting for my tribe.  _

_ I’m fighting for us. I’m fighting for a better world where we can build a life together. _

_ I know this is going to be hard, but you’re strong, Thomas. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. _

_ I love you, and I love loving you. Coming to Yorkshire was the best decision I’ve ever made in my entire life. Nothing else I’ve ever experienced compares to how you make me feel. I’m a real person with you, not some flimsy construct I created. You give me more dimension, more colors, more everything. The world is made ever more precious and beautiful because you’re in it. _

_ These past 16 years have been more wonderful than I could ever imagine. I only hope that I make you a fraction of as happy as you make me. _

_ I was thinking, when I come back, I could get a place in the village. That way I could be closer to you, even when you’re working. Would you like that? And when you retire, we can be old men together, like we imagined. _

_ Wait for me, _

_ Seth _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was a doozy. Lots of emotions, and it took me a while to work them all out. I hope you guys enjoyed! THe next chapter will be the last <3.
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr! I'm chambergambit there too.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr! I'm chambergambit over there too.


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